


Bad Form

by VickyVicarious



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Lieutenant Duckling, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyVicarious/pseuds/VickyVicarious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian Jones, of the King’s Navy, and Emma Swan, petty thief, meet on a dark night by the docks. [AU, young Captain Swan]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Form

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post ](http://gentlesleaze.tumblr.com/post/65313468126/is-anyone-else-shipping-young-emma-with) on Tumblr.

“Stealing from the king’s men?” Killian shook his head reproachfully, plucking a small leather purse out of the blonde girl’s fingers as she brushed past him in the nearly-empty street. “Bad form, lass.”

The girl huffed, jumping up to try and snatch the purse back from him, but he lifted it high out of her reach. “Give that back, it’s mine!”

“I think not,” Killian said, raising an eyebrow. “I quite clearly saw you swiping this from my comrade a moment ago.”

He nodded at the sailors retreating further down the road, a raucous and joyful lot, but quite oblivious. The girl scoffed and settled back on her heels. She brushed her long blonde hair back, allowing Killian his first good look at her and it took an effort not to make a sound.

She was very beautiful, in a worn-down sort of way. Bright green eyes flashed in a face that was far too hardened for its years. Though her figure was exceedingly pleasing to the eye, she looked hungry. Her clothing too looked functional enough but was clearly worn and patched, and the only hint of color was the silvery swan pendant she wore round her neck. There was a small smear of dirt that went just along her cheekbone; Killian’s thumb itched to wipe it off, to smooth along her skin.

“Your comrade,” she retorted in a flat voice, “is dead drunk. He won’t even notice it missing – and he’d only use it to buy more rum in any case. I have better uses for it.”

Killian bit his lip, looking her up and down. Yes, it was clear she would have better uses for the money, but –“Even so, that does not make it yours to take. He’s worked for this money, it’s his to spend as he sees fit.”

She cocked her head to the side, smiling coyly up at him, and Killian cleared his throat. “I worked for it too,” she said. “Do you know how difficult it is to pick the pocket of one of ‘the king’s men’?”

She imitated his accent on the last few words, and though Killian was sure she meant it as a mockery, he found he liked her playful tone. But she knew very well what she was doing, and – it was quite wrong, very bad form. He couldn’t allow this to continue.

“Be that as it may, Miss –” Killian paused expectantly. The girl just smirked at him, and after a moment he frowned and gestured to her necklace. “Swan, then, since you refuse to be polite. Miss Swan, can’t you see your efforts would be far better suited towards honest work?”

Her eyes went wide when he called her Swan, but after a moment she settled back into her lazy smirk, cocking her head to the side as she looked him up and down in a way that set his blood boiling against his will.

“There’s only one profession still willing to hire a woman like myself in this harbor, and it’s not exactly ‘honest.’ Would you really condemn me to such a fate?” Her smirk spread wider, and she swayed closer. “Are you asking to be my first customer?”

It took Killian several moments to catch on – he was distracted by her sudden proximity, the way he could almost feel her chest brushing against his own. The hand still holding his crewmate’s coin purse above his head felt sweaty, and he had no idea what to do with the other one. He’d spent most of his life on his brother’s ship, but still, he’d had his fair share of encounters with barmaids and the like; this shouldn’t fluster him so. Yet something about this Swan girl had him off his guard in the worst of ways – and she continued to press closer, her fingers skating against the front of his uniform, her lips almost to his before he understood her meaning.

Killian reeled back immediately, shoving her away and trying to ignore the flush he could already feel working up his cheeks. “No – no! Of course I didn’t mean _that_ , I was merely saying you should find a –”

He stopped short. She was _laughing_ , eyes crinkling up at the corners with genuine mirth, hands clapped over her mouth as if to muffle the sound – but he could hear it nonetheless. Her giggles were light and sweet and innocent, quite the opposite of her attitude.

“Oh, that was fun,” she finally breathed, meeting his eyes and dropping her hands to grin widely at him. The mocking in her gaze was clearer than ever, and Killian suddenly felt very irritated.

“If you have such desperate need of coins, I’ll gladly donate some. I won’t even report you, this time,” he snapped, shoving the purse into his pocket and digging out his own. “But I won’t be requiring any _favors_ , thank you – I do quite well in that regard on my own.”

Swan huffed again, clearly amused once more, and Killian ducked his head, angrily opening the clasp on his coin-purse. He felt like a fool, falling for the simple tricks of some – petty thief, just another of the living scum that frequented the docks. He shouldn’t have bothered conversing with her, just taken the purse and gone.

Warm fingers settled over his own and he stilled, glancing up. Swan gently directed him to close the clasps, and pressed the purse back against his chest. Her eyes were warm and happy, such a contrast from earlier that it took his breath away.

“I don’t need your charity, thanks,” she said, but her tone was much softer than the words themselves. “What’s your name, sailor?”

“I – Killian, Killian Jones.”

A slow smile curved her lips, her hands searing against his own. “I like you, Jones. It’s not often a girl like me gets to talk to such a gentleman.”

Killian swallowed convulsively. “You shouldn’t – stop saying ‘girl like you’, there’s nothing wrong with you, Miss Swan. You seem to be – very intelligent, and, and beautiful – and you deserve to be surrounded by gentlemen. I – I’m quite impressed with you, I only wish you didn’t feel the need to resort to –”

Swan stared in apparent shock throughout most of his little speech, watching wide-eyed and somehow _vulnerable_ as he rambled on, but when he told her he was impressed by her, her face firmed. Ignoring him as he continued to speak, she dropped his hands and reached up firmly to cup his cheeks, yanking his lips down to meet her own.

The kiss was sudden and intense and Killian forgot himself in an instant. He ought to have pulled away at once, but how could he, when her hand was carding through his hair, fingernails scratching gently at the base of his neck? It wasn’t possible – difficult enough to remember his own _name_ when she made a muffled sound and bit his lips open, downright impossible not to twine his fingers into her hair and kiss her back. He rested his other hand on her waist, attempting to be gentle, but she only pulled him in closer, with such force that he actually stumbled a little. The hand still on his cheek dropped down now, flattening over his chest, dragging steadily downwards in a wave of rough heat, and she licked deep into him until Killian could not breathe.

They separated only far enough to take in air, panting, foreheads resting together. Killian didn’t know at what point his eyes had dropped closed, but he was loath to open them now, unwilling to move away. His heart beat fast and heavy as he said, “That was…”

He couldn’t find the words to describe what her kiss had done to him, how every part of him had come alive and surrendered before her onslaught, how he suddenly could imagine nothing better than to do this again. In the end, he settled merely for nosing forward slightly, tilting in for another kiss.

But Swan pulled away, stepping back firmly out of his arms. She was panting too, but her voice was firm as she finished his sentence: “A thank you – for setting me on the right path.”

She stepped back, tucking her hands into her thin coat and turning to walk away. “Your confidence in me has restored my faith in the legal system; I’ll change my ways immediately. Goodbye, Jones.”

Before Killian could even attempt to formulate a reply, she had rounded a corner and was gone. For several long moments, he stared after her, before slowly swiveling to look around the dark, empty street.

He pressed two fingers to his buzzing lips. “Bloody hell.”

That kiss – that couldn’t be a simple _thank you_. Killian hadn’t ever kissed a woman like that in his life, much less one he’d barely spoken to for five minutes. It should feel rushed, improper, but instead it had merely felt _right_. The connection he’d felt with her was… something special, it had held real _meaning_ and – he refused to let it end here.

Straightening, Killian called out, “Swan!” He ran after her, boots echoing on the cobblestones, but the alley she had disappeared down was empty. He shouted after her anyway, in the hopes that she would hear and return. “Wait! Come back! _Swan!_ ”

The town was silent around him.

Slowly, Killian’s hopes fell, and he turned away, back to the main roads. He’d been separating from his men earlier, heading back to the ship for an early night as they went on to a second pub, but now he needed a rather strong drink. Not to mention to return that purse, he remembered, reaching into his pocket –

Killian froze. He scrabbled around in both his pockets, but only came up with a single small leather coin-purse; the sailor’s. His own was gone; he hadn’t ever put it back after offering its contents to Swan, and then she’d distracted him with that kiss, but he hadn’t heard it falling to the ground though he must have let go of it –

“Ohhh,” he breathed, a slow smile lifting his lips. “Oh, you’re a clever lass.”

That purse was a gift from his brother.

Naturally, Killian would not rest until he retrieved it again.

“Bad form, Swan,” he chuckled into the night, eager already for the chase to begin, “bad form indeed.”


End file.
